


A Little Pat Down

by Nanimok



Category: Alex Rider (TV 2020), Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: A bruised alexpeach, Anal Beads, Anal Fingering, Asshole Spanking, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Spanking, Poor Alex - Freeform, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26985034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanimok/pseuds/Nanimok
Summary: kinkmeme prompt: For some reason or another, Alex is at an airport in the United States. After being scanned by TSA, he's told that he needs to go to a private room for a more in-depth exhaustive search, whatever that means.Cue Alex anxiously waiting alone in a small room, only for Yassen in a TSA uniform to appear, ready to very thoroughly "search" Alex for any potentially dangerous objects.You never know what someone could be hiding up their arsehole. Go as crazy as you'd like!
Relationships: Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider
Comments: 2
Kudos: 109
Collections: Alex Rider Kinkmeme





	A Little Pat Down

Sometimes, when an opportunity presents itself, there’s nothing else to do but grasp it with both hands. This is what Yassen does. When he catches John’s boy from the corner of his eye, he calls up his contacts for a favour. He doesn’t know why Alex Rider is at Denver International Airport but he’s not going to look a nightmarish gift horse statue in the mouth. 

“You!” Alex slurs. “You’re the guy—with the scar!” He jolts, but the bar that his cuffs loop around slams him back onto the table. “How did you know my name before? Why did you smile at me like that? Why—Why are you in airport uniform? You can’t be working here—you’re—you’re evil!”

Indeed, Yassen doesn’t work here, but he fills the uniform out quite well, in his humble opinion. The rest… takes a second for Yassen to register. 

Yassen tilts his head. “Am I evil now?” 

“Yes! You worked with him—with Greif!

“Oh dear,” Yassen says. “How shall I ever recover.” 

More tempting wiggles. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No,” Yassen says, amused. “I would never.” 

Maybe the boy would be a lot less tumultuous if his mind wasn’t clouded. The price of Yassen slipping a little sedative into his water. It was necessary, in his opinion. Cuffing him is so much easier when Alex is warm and pliable. 

Alex wiggles on the table. “Aren’t you—aren’t you going to answer me?” 

His backside is tantalizingly supple and round. Combined with his flushed skin, plush lips swollen from his nervous gnawing, and the indignant dip of his eyebrows, he makes an appealing sight. 

Then there’s the fact that his pupils are blown to the size of the sun. An endless, hazy, shade of brown so dark it almost bleeds into black. 

Yassen shouldn’t find that so appealing either, but he has long given up on calling himself a good man. 

“Hmm, maybe,” Yassen says, coming around the table and running his hand down Alex’s back. “What will you give me if I answer you?” 

It is very clear what Yassen wants from this whole situation. Just spreading his palm on Alex’s back makes him hum in pleasure. 

Alex flinches, his back arching before he presses his belly down on the table. The warmth of flesh and firmness of his muscles is a treat on Yassen’s senses. It has been a while since Yassen has a truly vibrant human body under his touch. 

Yassen chuckles. “Do you think you can escape me like that?” 

Then Yassen starts unbuckling Alex’s belt, sliding his jeans down his shapely legs until he’s greeted with the sight of two, wonderfully round, dimpled cheeks. 

Yassen can’t help but give a slap in greeting. 

One cheek pinkens in the shape of his handprint. 

Jolting, Alex squeaks out, “What are you doing?!” 

“I believe it is pretty obvious what I’m doing.” 

He runs his hands up Alex’s legs. Its toned, yet soft. He keeps himself in such good shape. Alex resists him—or tries to. Under the influence, all he’s capable of doing is flail his legs in a weak impression of a freestyle kick and squirm his way further up the table. 

_ Smack! Smack!  _

Alex squawks, as his legs tremble in pain. Yassen grabs his legs and spreads them, so that there is room between Alex’s legs for Yassen to stand between. 

“Keep your legs open or it will get worse,” Yassen scolds. 

Spread so shamelessly on the table, Yassen could see that Alex is tempted to do exactly that. So he reaches over and squeezes Alex’s cock in warning—

A deep and guttural moan rumbles through Alex’s body. His cock twitches in Yassen’s hand. 

Now this is interesting. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say that you are enjoying this,” Yassen says. “But it is unfortunate that I do. There will be no enjoyment for someone who sells others out to MI6.” 

Yassen spreads one cheek open, until he can see the wrinkled hole wink at him. Before Alex could say otherwise, Yassen brings his other palm down in a succession of smacks, until his rim is darkened and puffy, and the skin surrounding his sweet hole is red. 

Alex howls in pain, and soon his voice shouts with every slap. 

“Isn’t that what you did, Alex Rider,” Yassen says. “You sold me out to MI6. All of a sudden, they know I’m alive. Pity. I’ve been enjoying my anonymity.” 

“I—” Alex swallows, even though his voice is undeniably shaky. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

Yassen digs his nail in a patch of skin right beside his hole, making Alex shake and buck himself off the table. 

“Stop, stop, stop!” Alex begs. “I don’t know what you mean—I—I didn’t sell you out! I don’t even work for MI6!” 

The boy is bold for daring to lie to him. He must be—he is the reason Point Blanc is no more, after all. Yassen admires his gumption, because he’s not very good at lying, unfortunately. 

“Hmm. I suppose you didn’t sell me out, then.” Yassen rubs his thumb over Alex’s pucker almost apologetically, and Alex’s breathing hitches at the touch. “But perhaps that is the wrong saying. Has anyone told you that you are a terrible liar?”

Yassen pushes his thumb in, and Alex begins whining, his begging of ‘please’ only growing more desperate as Yassen pushes past the ring of resistance and the first knuckle of his thumb pops through. 

He quite likes the sight in front of him. The poor little hole, stretching around his finger, trying its best to push the foreign object out while Alex himself is begging for mercy. 

Maybe Yassen should start pouring the lube now. He’s not quite that merciless with his punishments yet. He wiggles his thumb out, and Alex’s relief is short lived, much like his shriek, when Yassen spanks his hole three more times—just to see it twitch in protest. Then, he rummages his pocket for the packets of lube he hastily nicked from the airport pharmacy. 

The heat in his own crotch is starting to become unbearable. He’s straining under the seams of his pants. Yassen does plan to enjoy him, one day, but his plans would include a lush bed he can tie Alex to when he’s all fucked out. For now, he is having too much fun with the idea of working Alex up with his fingers—amongst another surprise Yassen is keeping hush for now. 

The poor boy. 

As much as he stifles the sound, Yassen hears him sighing as he pours the lube over his rim. The coolness must be a godsend for his hot skin. Yassen lathers the lube into the creases of his hole, while his other hand strokes down Alex’s flank. Back and forth, squeezing every bit of skin he can cup in his palms.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Alex loosens under his administrations. The last of his resistance flows out as his limbs glow pliant and limber. That is when Yassen slips his first finger in, working in and out as he follows the rhythm of Alex’s little groans. The second finger goes in just as easily, and the sight of Alex’s hole sucking in his fingers will never stop being so arousing. 

He crooks his fingers once he finds Alex’s sweet spot. “You see, I have to be thorough,” Yassen says, rubbing up nice and slow, keeping with the low tone of his voice. “People are sly and cunning. They are sneaky. They can hide substances even in the tightest corners. You understand, yes?” 

Helpless, Alex whimpers as Yassen twists and scissors his fingers, before returning to his maddening routine. 

Yassen’s other hand is still on its own odyssey, running up and down the dip of his back, tracing the sculpt of his muscles with his nails, purposely leaving Alex’s hard, leaking dick ignored. In a bout of curiosity, Yassen wonders if Alex would taste as juicy and warm as a summer peach. He leans down and trails his lips up his back and finds—no, not quite as sweet. The salt on his lips, however, is just as delicious. 

“Please,” Alex gasps out. “Please… I just want—hng—”

“Pardon me? Speak up.”

“Please.” Alex’s ass does a little complicated dance between wiggling off and pushing himself back into his fingers. “Please. I need to come.” 

“Ask me.” 

“What?” 

“I want to hear you ask me nicely.”

“But I already have!” 

A slap on his plump, now red ass-cheek. “That wasn’t nice enough,” Yassen says. “You already know my name. They would have told you. So,” Yassen presses down even harder, and he starts increasing the rhythm of his rubbing. “I want to hear you ask with my name.”

Alex’s breathing grows louder, but Yassen can see him weighing his frustration against maintaining his cover. 

“Please,” Alex finally says. “Please let me come, please… Yassen.”

Satisfaction roars through him like a wildfire. A heady, strong sensation, starting from the tips of his toes and concentrating at his lower belly.

This bright, beautiful, desperate boy. Yassen likes the way his name falls off his lips. Maybe one day, Yassen will take him somewhere nice. As John took him to Paris. With the beautiful view as the backdrop of their bedroom and the boy’s little mewls of pleasure that borders on pain, Yassen will feed Alex more and more fingers, stretching him to his limits, just to see how much of them he can take. 

“Then come,” Yassen says, speeding up his fingers. 

“What?” Alex says, again. He seems to say it a lot.

“I’m not stopping you.” 

“But…” Another little wiggle on his hips. “My hands are still stuck.” 

“That’s because you won’t need them,” Yassen says. Alex will come on his fingers or he won’t come at all. 

Luckily, Alex catches the hint. Or his drugged mind is too addled with the onslaught of sensations. His body tightens, like the taut strings on an instrument. Here, he pays attention to all the details needed to make Alex’s body sing. All the hidden buttons that need tweaking and pressing. What a sight it is, the wave of muscles flexing in distress, as Alex fights his way to the precipice of release. Next time, Yassen wants to watch the struggle, and note the way his cheeks flush as his eyes roll to the back of his head. 

Alex comes with a whine that crumbles into a series of dry sobbing. His body shakes and shudders, and his load drips down his leg. Yassen fucks him through the aftershock, all the while rubbing his leg and murmuring quiet praise. Much deserved praise, in Yassen’s opinion. Alex has been a very good boy to him. 

When his breathing calms into something slow and steady, Yassen brings out his little surprise before Alex can fall asleep—a string of anal beads which successively get bigger, complete with a loop on the end for Yassen to tug on. He smears the last of the lube on the beads, and he can see how Alex’s shoulder twitching when he hears the tell-tale rip of plastic. 

Yassen teases the first bead on Alex’s hole. “Just a bit more,” he coaxes. “A little bit more before you can go home.”

“What’s the point,” Alex mumbles. “Everyone’s already gone without me anyway.”

“Then I will get you a new one,” Yassen says. “No need to worry.” 

Alex mumbles something else under his breath, but Yassen ignores him in favour of pushing the first bead in. It nudges its way home with a slight wiggle of discomfort from Alex’s end. The second bead goes in without a fuss. The third is where Yassen encounters some resistance. 

Alex is taking it so beautifully, his good boy. His rim stretches, trying to accommodate its widest part. Yassen holds the bead still there. The bead is in such a precarious position. Alex is beginning to squirm. Yassen pinches his hip as a warning, and with a couple of soft taps, the bead gains enough traction to be swallowed by Alex’s rim. 

Alex ducks his head, moaning as it nestles in comfortably. Yassen digs his finger into the soft flesh and spreads his cheeks apart, admiring the little string trailing out of Alex’s red, puffy rim. He tugs on the loop, and Alex gives a sharp inhale—probably all the beads jostling inside him. 

The fourth bead goes in slower than the others. The fifth, and last bead, is the hardest. Bucking his hips, Alex twists and fidgets as his poor hole tries to accommodate its width. At its widest point, Yassen pinches the string and lightly nudges it and out until Alex’s moans grow louder. Finally, two taps and the bead pops itself comfortably in. Alex’s struggles, though, have given him a pleasant idea. 

Pinching his hips once more for attention, Yassen says, “Push it out.” 

“What?” 

“Bear down on it,” Yassen says, digging his nail into Alex’s skin. “Push the toy out. It is dangerous to make me wait.”

Gulping, Alex says, “Okay.” 

Then, Yassen watches as his ass works the last bead out. The bead grows wider and wider as it presses against his entrance. When it gets to the widest part, Yassen pushes the bead and the bead pops back in. Jolting, Alex squawks as his rim closes shut around the bead, breathing stuttering in confusion. 

Confusion is a familiar but strangely adorable expression on this boy. “Again,” Yassen says, tugging on the string. 

And so time flies with Alex bearing down and Yassen toying with the beads inside him. Sometimes he pushes them in, sometimes he yanks them out. Alex’s back is covered by a new layer of sweat by then, another attractive flush shading his skin. Anytime his overworked hole is stretched, a small whine escapes and Yassen can never tell if he’s whining from pain or from pleasure. Yassen wonders what kind of noises he’d draw out of Alex if he loops his finger and yanks the beads all out at once. Would his little puckered hole even want to let the bead go?

His train of thought is broken by the ping of his watch. A message from Kurst unfortunately reminding him of his job. Annoyed, he palms the tent in his crotch and pushes the last bead in with minimal fanfare. He does, however, pat the twin dimples woefully as he rearranges himself under his pants. 

Bleary eyed and hair a sudden mess, Alex blinks and wets his lips. “Wha… Are you going now?” 

Yassen raises one eyebrow. “Did you want me to stay?” 

“No,” Alex says, although he does sound a little sulky. He wiggles his hips and rattles his hands in protest. “Are you going to let me go?” 

“Maybe,” Yassen says, a bright little idea forming in his mind. “It depends.” 

“On?”

“If you’ll keep the beads inside until you get home.” 

Yassen pats Alex’s delectable ass in emphasis. Having the beads wreak havoc inside him all the way back to London is a delicious thought. 

“You’re kidding,” Alex says incredulously. 

“I’m not,” Yassen says. “And if you’ll take them out, I’ll know.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“There will be no chip on my shoulder if you want to test that.” Yassen shrugs. “I do enjoy Britain’s weather at this time of year.” 

This time, Alex hesitates. “You’re lying,” he says. “No one enjoys Britain’s weather at any time of the year,” he mutters under his breath. 

Yassen doesn’t reply. He only comes around the table and dangles the key to Alex’s handcuffs just outside of his outstretched hands. 

Alex watches the key, before his eyes flick up at Yassen’s face. Having his hazy doe-eyes look up at Yassen is another treat. Yassen tucks the image into his memory, for further inspection in the future. Since he’s already this close, though, Yassen strokes a quick finger down the curve of his cheek. 

“Alright. Whatever. Just.” Alex looks away. “Let me go home. I’ve already missed my flight as it is.” 

Yassen has already slipped another airplane ticket into the boy’s backpack. Same destination, first class—a token of their time together. He has also installed a tracking device on the boy’s phone for personal interest. But Yassen does not tell him this. Instead, he combs his finger through Alex’s hair. He even indulges himself with a kiss into the tuft of warm, blonde hair—a tender kiss made with an unspoken promise—before he slips the key into Alex’s hands and closes the interrogation room door behind him. 

**Author's Note:**

> i promise my next fic will be fluff :bunruns:


End file.
